


A Mind Afar

by khal_blaine



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Ending (How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World), Angst, F/M, Gen, Mind Control, Non-Sexual Slavery, Other, Venomcup, Whump, no happily ever after
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-11-19 15:05:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khal_blaine/pseuds/khal_blaine
Summary: Though the riders secure a tactical victory against the warlords' armada -- freeing most of Berk's caged dragons and taking out a number of ships -- Toothless and his mate remain trapped in Grimmel's clutches, and Hiccup himself is captured in his attempt to aid the Furies. Grimmel decides to condition and weaponize his new prisoner with altered Deathgripper venom, partly for his own gain, and partly for the enjoyment of watching the Chief of Berk crumble from the inside out. -- My alternate-ending take on the Venomcup AU taking HTTYD Tumblr by storm.





	1. Next Best Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! My first Dragons fic: a foray into Venomcup, whump, and general unhappiness -- because I'm a horrible person, apparently. This is primarily a (nonsexual, nonromantic) story about Hiccup and Grimmel, with just a few small sprinkles of Hiccstrid and Hicctooth as needed to move the plot along. Please note the Major Character Death tag before choosing to proceed at your own peril. (No death in chapter one; don't worry.)
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at nicholaswilde. xoxo

The airship hit the ground with a rickety jerk, sending up dust as six Deathgrippers landed alongside. Four remained silent and still at the contraption's base, on guard. Two others kept close on the heels of their master as Grimmel the Grisly stepped out into the aim of two dozen archers, poised with their bows ready to fire at any of the warlords' command.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't have you killed where you stand!"

Though Grimmel couldn't see her or her associates, Griselda the Grievous' furious shout rose up from the excavated heart of the warlord's remote base. The massive iron gate, situated over the top like a great lid, remained shut to his entrance.

"Only one reason?" Grimmel called back to her. "Alright. How about the curiosity you undoubtedly have about why I've returned? After taking the Night Fury. After leaving your armada to its small, though unquestionable, defeat. I could have left you to handle your own problems, but here I am! Aren't you curious what I might have to say?"

Grimmel stood with a smirk on his face, knowing with every passing second the likelihood of them ordering his immediate execution grew smaller. He didn't come here to die. He knew they wouldn't go that far -- not when they still needed him.

With a rumble and shriek of straining metal and the rattling of chains, the great iron gate began to rise. Grimmel laughed to himself and started forward, two Deathgrippers following in his wake as he made his way down the slope to the wide courtyard below. As on his first visit weeks before, there were several dragons in cages, and others chained directly to bolts driven deep into the ground. The warlords had done a fair job at collecting new specimens after so many had escaped when the Berkians had attacked.

Griselda the Grievous, Ragnar the Rock, and Chaghatai Khan stood waiting for him on the steps leading to their open-air council table. All of them wore hard, displeased expressions -- even the dimwitted Ragnar who had a brain the size of a sheep dropping and the bad habit of considering himself and Grimmel "old friends."

"Why are you here, then?" Griselda demanded the moment Grimmel stood before them. She kept a loose grip on the hilt of her sword, ready to take matters into her own hands the moment he failed to supply a satisfactory response.

"I've changed my mind," Grimmel said simply, a friendly, teasing smile on his face. "I've decided to help you in your cause."

"The Alpha?" Chaghatai assumed, his exhilaration obvious.

"No. No," Grimmel said. "Already dead, unfortunately. I told you he was mine to kill."

Griselda's glare deepened. "Then how exactly do you propose to be of any use to us?"

Grimmel pulled back his hood, smoothed his hair. "The Alpha is gone; that's true. But I've brought you the next best thing." He put his fingers to his lips and gave out a short, sharp whistle. The pair of Deathgrippers, sniffing around the nearby cages, came quickly at the call.

"Come here, boy."

From the back of the nearest dragon, a previously unseen figure slid to the ground, giving the dragon a single stroke on its neck before heading straight to Grimmel's side. If the unmistakable dragon blade he carried didn't give the newcomer's identity away, the metal prosthetic he stood on certainly did.

"My dear warlords, I give you the world's greatest dragon trainer," Grimmel introduced with a chuckle. Hiccup's dragon scale suit was battle worn, torn at the shoulders, and the entirety of the neck guard had been cleanly cut away, exposing Hiccup's skin from his collarbones up. In place of the armor, a black collar was belted tight around the young man's neck.

Ragnar was the first to speak, confusion plain on his face. "Why would the Chief of Berk help us?"

Grimmel reached up to the collar, tapping a thin, protruding vial embedded there. Half-filled with a viscous, purple liquid, it emitted a faint glow.

"I think you'll find this so-called chief will do anything I ask. Isn't that right, Hiccup?"

The warlords could see the struggle on the prisoner's face, subtle though it was. His chin clenched. His eyebrows furrowed just enough to add a single crease at the base of his forehead. Seconds ticked by, and Grimmel grew impatient. From his belt, he produced another vial, this one filled to the brim. He wiped down the needle point with his sleeve, grabbed a fistful of Hiccup's hair, and, not without some effort, drove it home into another circular slot on the collar's surface.

Hiccup winced. Then the vial emitted a barely discernible hiss, and he moaned weakly, a sound of something between discomfort and relief. A thin stream of blood flowed from the hidden puncture wound. His expression smoothed into a blank stare, all traces of tension fading.

"Isn't that right, Hiccup?" Grimmel tried again.

"Yes."

Grimmel released his grip and turned back to the warlords, entirely unfazed. "We're still working out some kinks," he admitted with a casual shrug.

"I see," Griselda murmured, still skeptical.

"Allow me to demonstrate." It wasn't a request. Grimmel snapped his fingers and pointed toward a massive Rumblehorn chained some yards away. The dragon's belows of frustration were muffled by the cage of a muzzle locked around its skull. "Subdue it," he ordered.

Without a word, Hiccup moved to obey. All around the ring, groups of hired men-turned-wranglers paused their work to watch this strange, scrawny Viking stride toward the dragon who had crushed two larger men in the dust only hours before. Their blood still stained the ground. Hiccup -- without a whip, hook, or shield -- appeared fearless.

The Rumblehorn's agitation grew as he approached. A low, deep growl shook the earth when Hiccup grabbed Inferno and extended the blade, the noise fading just as quickly as it had come when the sword suddenly burst into flames from hilt to tip. Instead of hacking and lashing out, a series of lithe, slow movements followed. Hiccup brandished his sword like an extension of himself, in high arcs, low dips, and patient turns. Every move carried a thoughtful weight that spoke to Hiccup's inherent skills rather than Grimmel's influence, and every onlooker -- apart from Grimmel himself -- felt a bit captivated by the display.

The dragon made another low sound, but it was no threatening growl. This hum seemed like a distinct expression of curiosity. Hiccup advanced another few steps and held his free hand, palm-out, toward the creature.

"You're okay," he murmured, so quiet only the Rumblehorn could hear.

The dragon snorted in reply. A great billow of warm air ruffled Hiccup's hair, and despite the venom coursing through his veins, dulling his conscious senses, one corner of the young man's lips crooked in a familiar smile.

Hiccup extinguished his sword and let the blade fall to the ground. The entire arena waited. The warlords leaned forward to watch the Rumblehorn take a steady, giant step forward. Its chain rattled. Its shadow fell over Hiccup, dwarfing his own in the dark. The beast hummed again and lowered its head, but instead of goring the boy through the chest, it nudged Hiccup's palm with the base of its horn.

Between the muzzle's wide straps of leather and metal, Hiccup used two hands to caress either side of the dragon's lower jaw. His fingernails dragged along its battle-scarred scales with an audible pitter-patter scrape. The Rumblehorn's whole body rippled with a squirm of pleasure, nearly knocking Hiccup off his feet as it pushed against his hands, vocalized, and finally sank to the ground with a contented sigh.

Hiccup stood still for several long seconds to make sure the Rumblehorn was soothed before slowly bending over to retrieve his sword. Someone across the arena clapped once, twice, three times, but Hiccup made no sign that he heard the impressed reaction. He slipped Inferno back into its belt and returned to Grimmel's side, looking up at the man's face with a blank but clearly expectant stare, waiting.

"Good."

The word of praise seemed to release Hiccup from a state of suspense. His shoulders drooped an inch. His gaze trained on the ground in front of him. He simply lingered like the Deathgrippers, devoid of purpose without a command to follow.

"Impressive, no?" Grimmel asked the warlords, reaching out to give Hiccup a mocking pat on the head.

"You accomplish all this with injections of venom?" Chaghatai questioned.

"Slightly altered," Grimmel said, explaining, "Alone, Deathgripper venom causes loss of consciousness, deep muscle relaxation. But make a few adjustments, and you unlock an entirely different potential -- the relaxation of the mind. Makes one very prone to suggestion."

" _Your_ suggestions," Griselda noted.

"Yes. The altered venom does its own work, but training the mind to obey one leader requires some additional… hm. Encouragement."

Grimmel offered no other insight into his methods. The warlords stared at Hiccup. They were calculating and curious, but no longer quite as hostile toward Grimmel or his plan. Rather, they invited Grimmel to join them for further discussions over a meal. The group stepped through a door behind the council table, down a spiral staircase into a cavernous hall lit with wall-mounted torches. The Deathgrippers barely squeezed through the pathway, following behind Hiccup, who trailed along in Grimmel's wake.

"You really think this boy could train an entire flock?" Ragnar asked when all four conspirators were seated, filled mugs in hand. He looked across the table at Hiccup, standing a few feet away in between the pair of deadly dragons. All six eyes stared at their master's back. "Do we have time for that?"

Grimmel took a swallow of his drink, nodding. "He would work without sleep, without food, without water, if I gave his orders." As though to further demonstrate his power, Grimmel turned to meet Hiccup's waiting gaze. "Kneel," he said firmly.

The dragons hissed, clearly affected by the commanding tone, through they didn't know its meaning. Hiccup, on the other hand, dropped like a sack of flour, his knees hitting the stony floor with an audible, discomforting crack. A quick flash of gritted teeth was the only sign he registered the pain.

"Over here," Grimmel said.

With a smile more acidic than the Deathgripper's green blasts, Grimmel watched the Chief of Berk crawl across the space that separated them, prosthetic scraping noisily. Hiccup perched on his knees at Grimmel's side, muscles giving pliantly as Grimmel threaded a hand into his hair and tipped his head to expose the pair of vials embedded at the base of his neck. Methodic, Grimmel checked the venom levels, tugged the collar's buckle to ensure its security, and gave each glass tube a gentle twist. Hiccup groaned, closing his eyes. When released, he swayed drunkenly and settled against Grimmel's leg.

The warlords glanced at one another, sharing quick nods: Chaghatai and Ragnar's eager, Griselda's bitter but resigned.

"What do you want in exchange?" she asked. "The payment we agreed upon for the Alpha?"

"That will do," Grimmel agreed. "As long as I'm provided ample food for the Deathgrippers, and -- perhaps -- the pleasure of a few more kills along the way? There's nothing quite like a Fury," he admitted with a plaintive sigh, "but a few of those other Berkian dragons would do. If only to see their riders squirm."

Griselda rolled her eyes. "It's all about pleasure to you, isn't it?"

Grimmel laughed, throwing a satisfied glance at Hiccup, all but mewling at his feet.

"No," he said. "It's all about winning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback is super appreciated!


	2. Night Fury Killer

Hours later, Grimmel and his envenomed entourage made the return flight to the dragon hunter's latest base of operations. The abandoned, two-story stone structure, at the edge of a deserted village upon an even more deserted island, appeared to have served as a dungeon in its former life. Though the walls were crumbling in places, each of the four large holding cells with strong, barred doors remained intact, and several other rooms were in adequate enough condition for Grimmel's use.

Hiccup could feel the worst effects of the venom wearing off as Grimmel ushered him into the cell he'd called home ever since the armada battle had gone awry and he'd found himself just as captive as the two dragons he'd strived the hardest to save. 

From the furthest corner, Toothless warbled low in greeting. Even in the dark, the Light Fury's scales shimmered as she raised her head, peering at Hiccup through the bars of the adjacent cell. Both dragons lay as close as they could to one another, wearing heavy muzzles that provided just enough to space to slip the occasional fish through -- not enough to bite or blast.

It had been two weeks since he'd been taken captive, as best as Hiccup could tell. Countless hours and several days had blurred since Grimmel had started dosing him with that wicked solution. Small, singular amounts at first. A quick syringe stab while Hiccup was otherwise restrained with chains or pinned to the floor under the weight of a drooling Deathgripper. His vision would cloud, or reality would turn distinctly muddy. A few times he'd passed out altogether. Little by little, Grimmel had perfected his recipe until he determined it suitable enough for longer-term use and strapped a miniature version of the Deathgripper's headgear around Hiccup's neck.

The collar was made of two overlapping straps of hard leather, held flush together by a series of silver studs. Four thin holes, two on each side, had been driven through the leather and fitted with four intricate, identical pieces of metalwork that served to guide the needles to his flesh, prevent their breakage, and lock the vials into place with a simple twist of the hand. A thick buckle at the back of Hiccup's neck kept everything firmly in place, locked and unremovable without a key. Distantly, objectively, part of him couldn't help but admire the flawless craftsmanship, but the collar had brought him nothing but torment.

Though he wrestled and protested for every inch of power Grimmel tried to strip away, Hiccup found there was little he could actually do to prevent it from happening. Until today when he'd been placed on a Deathgripper's back to travel to the warlords' base for negotiations, his sword _and_ prosthetic had both been kept out of sight. Weaponless, weary, and physically unbalanced, Hiccup had had to adjust to the reality of losing again, and again, and again.

Grimmel had yet to use the venom on the Furies, but all the same, Toothless was in a similar state of helplessness: muzzled, without his tail fin, and with the Light Fury under constant threat. Grimmel allowed the dragon and his rider to share the same cell. Though Hiccup had no doubt there was some nefarious motivation behind it, he relished being in the company of his best friend nonetheless. They stuck close to one another, always in the corner nearest Toothless's wild mate.

Hiccup moved to that spot now, after pausing to hand Grimmel his sword and allow his captor to pull the two vials from his neck -- one fully drained, the other close behind. The cell door locked with a rusty click. Hiccup sank back against the wall, staring blankly. The Night Fury nuzzled into Hiccup's hair, nosed down his temple, cheek, chin, and sniffed at the empty collar. He hummed inquisitively. Hiccup placed a hand on the dragon's side to ground himself.

It took several moments of deep concentration for Hiccup to summon his own voice. Even without fresh venom coursing into his veins, the cloudy after effects lingered in his brain. It seemed to take longer to recover after each successive dose. In the beginning, he'd been able to regain lucid thought within seconds. Now minutes would tick by before Hiccup could even remember who or where he was.

Finally he reached out to give Toothless's nose a gentle scratch, answering weakly, "Hey there, bud. I'm okay… Just a long day."

His neck was sore, and his skin felt chafed beneath the leather strap. Hiccup tried in vain to push his nails beneath it and scratch at the miniscule wounds, some scabbed, some fresh, but the itch ran deeper than he could reach. All the way to the core of him, down his spine, up into the base of his skull, buzzing just behind his conscious thoughts. Already his body craved another dose of venom. Hiccup recognized the feeling and jerked his hand from his neck with sharp denial and mild panic.

It was getting worse. Every day it got worse.

Grimmel sat on a stool outside the cell, eyeing Hiccup with a knowing smirk. He did that often -- just sitting out there. Watching. Observing. Occasionally jotting down notes in a parchment book spread open on his lap. Hiccup had almost grown numb to his presence. Tonight, though, he stared the man down with an even gaze. Memories of the past few hours filtered in slowly, through a fog, and Hiccup logged them away piece by piece, trying to keep a grip on reality as much as he could.

"You told them Toothless was dead."

It had been a passing remark, early in the day, and Hiccup had barely heard it from where he'd sat on the Deathgripper's back. Now it stood out in sharp relief from all the other events and exchanges, a curious outright lie.

"I did," Grimmel agreed with ease.

"Why?"

"You have a rapport with the beasts; I'll give you that. But you're no dragon. Do you really think the warlords would have accepted you as an alternative if they knew the Alpha still survived?" Grimmel asked.

Hiccup shook his head, gaze trailing down to the floor, then back to his captor. Grimmel's logic made sense, but then the question still remained--

"What are you going to do with him?"

"I'm the Night Fury killer. What do you imagine I'll do?" Grimmel toyed with him.

"I won't let you hurt him," Hiccup said. Nearby, the Light Fury hissed a unison threat.

"You _won't_? My, my. That's a pretty bold statement from the weak boy I saw crawling on his hands and knees this afternoon."

Hiccup picked through his brain, disbelieving, but the memory was there, just as Grimmel described it. A hot, humiliated blush covered Hiccup's face. He looked pointedly away, turning his head to watch the rise and fall of Toothless's chest. The dragon, ever protective, sensed his boy's distress, and his tail scraped across the floor to curl around Hiccup like a barrier.

When it became clear that Hiccup wasn't going to respond, Grimmel spoke again.

"Why didn't you?"

Hiccup rolled his eyes, irritated. "Why didn't I what?"

"Why didn't you kill the Night Fury?"

Toothless rumbled, dropping his heavy head onto Hiccup's lap, clearly fed up with Grimmel himself. _Ignore him,_ he seemed to say. They looked one another in the eye, green boring into green. Hiccup saw trust and affection in Toothless's gaze, but there was uncertainty, too. A soft anxiety and whispering doubt that wondered how they were going to get out of trouble this time. The fear that maybe they'd finally picked a battle they couldn't win.

"I saw that he was just as scared as I was," Hiccup murmured. 

Hiccup didn't see Grimmel shake his head in contempt, but he heard the other man rise from his seat and walk away. Hiccup leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Toothless's smooth scales and taking a deep, trembling breath of dank dungeon air.

"I shouldn't have come looking for you," he said, not for the first time feeling regret that he'd ever stepped foot in the dragons' beautiful, forbidden homeland beneath the sea. "I'm sorry."

Toothless huffed and licked Hiccup's hand with the very tip of his tongue, all he could manage with the muzzle. Hiccup ignored the sound of Grimmel's returning footsteps, closing his eyes and staying still. He'd had enough games for one day. 

"Would you like another chance?" Grimmel asked.

Hiccup didn't move, didn't speak, didn't acknowledge he'd even heard the question.

The silence was broken by a rapid _thwack_ , _swish_ , and the sound of the Light Fury yowling in pain. Before Hiccup could react, Toothless jerked into motion, throwing Hiccup halfway across the cell as he leaped to his feet. His furious roar was loud enough to make the very dungeon quake. Clouds of dust billowed down from in between the ceiling stones.

Hiccup sat up, dazed and wide-eyed, to see the Light Fury thrashing wildly in her cell, a large crossbow bolt in the center of her chest. This wasn't one of Grimmel's subduing darts. It was a weapon designed to slaughter. She wasn't aware of Toothless clawing at the bars that separated them. She wasn't aware of anything. Just a panicked, wild animal. Driven by an instinct to flee, she tried to take flight, hit the far wall, and careened to the floor with a sickening, wing-breaking crunch. The bolt drove in deeper, its shaft burrowing hungrily into her flesh, and Hiccup watched in horror as the Fury froze. Blood began to seep, then pour, from the heart-piercing wound.

The dragon screeched, jerked her head, and collapsed. Toothless roared, bugled, pleaded in their shared language. But his mate didn't stir again. Blood pooled and pooled, staining her dazzling scales, covering the floor. Her breathing grew gradually more shallow, then stopped altogether. Hiccup stared at the Fury's dead, panicked eyes. They were wide and unseeing, her jet black pupils reduced to thin slits.

Outside the cells, Grimmel sighed fondly. "It never gets old."

Trembling, Hiccup got to his feet, crossed the cell, and pressed himself against the bars. He gripped them, white knuckled, eyes blazing even as they welled with tears. He stared at Grimmel, cradling a massive crossbow in his hands. There was nothing to say. Nothing he could do. But, gods, if looks could kill...

Grimmel smiled back at him. "Wouldn't you like another chance, Hiccup?" he asked again. "A chance to prove yourself? I know you shot that dragon down. It's time you finished the job." He set the crossbow on the stool beside him. "I'll even let you use my knife." Grimmel fingered the blade sheathed at his hip and took a step forward.

Hiccup blanched and backed away. "No."

"Come now. Don't be difficult." Grimmel reached out, slipped a thin key in the lock, and pulled the barred door open, closing it behind him.

"Toothless!"

The dragon was deaf to Hiccup's call, back toward both men, staring listlessly into the neighboring cell.

Hiccup was on his own, then. Heart racing, he steadied himself and launched at Grimmel, managing to knock him to the ground. Hiccup wasted no time in reaching for the knife, pulling it from Grimmel's belt. He lifted it high and plunged it down in a speeding arc, but a vice-like hand closed about his wrist and pulled Hiccup up short. With his free hand, Grimmel landed a heavy blow across Hiccup's cheek, sending the Chief of Berk sprawling on his side. The knife slipped from his grasp and clattered beyond reach.

Breathing heavy, with barely-contained fury etched on his face, Grimmel pinned Hiccup down, pressing his full weight on Hiccup's chest and stomach. He was stronger than he looked. Even now, after everything, Hiccup had underestimated his enemy again. 

Hiccup coughed out another desperate appeal: "Toothless..."

If he would only turn around. If he would only see. He could save them both.

Grimmel knew his prey. He knew the distraction of a dead mate was more than sufficient to keep himself safe though he was unprotected, mere feet from the beast's claws, and threatening its rider. The thrill of excitement was immense. He'd won yet another game, and the best was still to come. "You're going to kill that dragon, Hiccup," he said with a sneer. "You're going to end this."

"No. I'd never--"

Grimmel held up a half-full vial with a gleaming point.

" _Please_ don't do this. Don't make me--  _Toothless_!"

Hiccup yelled, kicking, squirming. He beat with his fists, raked his nails uselessly against Grimmel's dragonhide garments. With a single swift motion, Grimmel splayed a hand across Hiccup's forehead and pushed, rocking his skull hard against the stone floor.

Hiccup went limp. Blotches of light seemed to scatter across the room. Grimmel wiped down the needle, matched it to a slot in the collar, and pushed past skin and desperately tense muscle. Next to the ache blossoming across the back of his head, Hiccup barely felt the sharp bite of the vial, but he heard the unmistakable hiss below his right ear as Grimmel locked it in place. Deep, overwhelming panic stole over him.

No.

The weight lifted from his chest. Hiccup struggled to right himself, to find the knife and lash out before the venom took effect. Before he--

"Stop."

Hiccup froze on command, already fading. With every terrified beat of his heart the venom traveled, bending him to Grimmel's will. He squeezed his eyes shut, struggling even though he was beyond hope now. He couldn't do this. He couldn't kill a dragon. Any dragon.

"Tooth- Toothless."  _Run. Fight._

_Kill me first._

He couldn't get the words out.

"Pick up the knife and do away with that Night Fury."

Still dizzy from the blow to his head, Hiccup stood and managed three staggering steps, bent over, and took the knife in hand. He moved toward the great black dragon. By now the Light Fury's blood had started to flow into their shared cell, pooling around the Night Fury's feet. Grimmel's knife glinted in the torchlight emanating from across the hall. A reflecting flash passed over the bars just over the dragon's head, and for the first time since his mate fell, Toothless reacted to an outward stimulus. He turned toward his would-be attacker, lips curled to reveal his teeth, bared in a ferocious snarl.

The menacing sound died in the dragon's throat as it looked upon Hiccup, face blank but focused. As Grimmel predicted, the tame Night Fury wasn't immediately provoked to battle. It vocalized briefly and stepped closer, nudging its head toward Hiccup's free hand. The knife came down in a blur. Though hindered by the muzzle, the blade opened a shallow gash across the dragon's snout.

It jerked backward with a warbling protest. Hiccup continued to advance, but the dragon turned its sights toward Grimmel who stood watching from a few feet away. The growl that had faded moments ago rose again with renewed vigor. Grimmel had killed its mate and stollen its boy's mind; the anger in those intelligent eyes left no question that the dragon understood the situation's every nuance. The Night Fury stepped in front of Hiccup as if to guard him, planted its feet and prepared to spring. Even Grimmel felt faintly awed as a dim blue light began to glow from the dragon's nostrils, behind its teeth, along the spines running down its back. A single spark of electricity crackled near the base of its unfurling wings.

The dragon pounced. Hiccup lunged after it with a shout, half tackling, half clinging, driving the blade into the Night Fury's neck, just below its jaw where tough hide and scales gave way to softer flesh. The pair fell together at Grimmel's feet, the dragon letting out a guttural, airy bugle as Hiccup gritted his teeth and wrenched the knife deeper, at an even sharper angle, severing tendons and slicing through muscle. The Alpha's blue light flickered out like a candle. The dragon kicked, trying to right itself and throw the boy off, but Hiccup wouldn't give. He pulled the knife free with a grunt of considerable effort, took the hilt in both hands, and plunged it back into the gaping wound. This time he found the vein he sought.

Hot, red blood bubbled and gushed over Hiccup's fists, his wrists. Sprayed across his face. Covered the floor. Hiccup didn't budge. Didn't wince. Didn't look away. The dragon's tail whipped. One wing flapped uselessly, then folded forward across its belly in a last attempt to shield itself from harm. Self-preservation instincts could do nothing to close the mortal wound. The dragon groaned once, long and low, before its heavy eyelids drooped. Shock and blood loss took their toll, and consciousness quickly slipped away. Death came slower. Hiccup, panting, catching his breath, felt the heart's every beat throb deep in the creature's chest. A minute passed.

Its pulse raced, then slowed.

The beast's great lungs rattled.

Then all was still. Hiccup pulled the blade free, stood on shaky legs, and held the gore soaked weapon out toward Grimmel, who calmly stood over him, wearing a pleased expression.

My newest dragon killer," he mused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry not sorry?) Thus ends the "major character death" warning.
> 
> Feedback greatly appreciated! Your tears are also appreciated.
> 
> More to come...


	3. Breakthrough

Flat on his back, Hiccup awoke slowly, extricating himself from a thick, dreamless sleep and the last drops of venom dosed the evening before. He heard snuffling nearby and the scrape of dragon claws on the stone floor. Grimmel must have already left out breakfast and Toothless was trying to scoop up the fish on his own, muzzle be damned.

"Hold on, bud. I've got you."

Yawning, then grimacing at the metallic stink in the air, Hiccup pushed himself to a sitting position. His mind scrambled to make sense of the scene before him.

The cell door was wide open. One Deathgripper was inside with him, with another wandering in close behind. Though their tusks were retracted and hidden away, their pupils were dilated, thier nostrils flared. Toothless lay on his side in a puddle of stagnant blood, browned and blackened from exposure to the air. Chittering to one another, the Deathgrippers lapped at it, tongues dragging languidly through the mess.

Instead of the usual difficult filtering required to recall the events of a time spent under the venom's influence, Hiccup's memories barrelled straight to the forefront of his mind, sharp with detail. Horror assailed him.

A film of dried blood, caked to his hands and fingers, broke like a scab as he clutched at his neck, at the collar. It felt too tight. He felt breathless and choked despite great, gasping lungfuls of air.

Hiccup had faced more than his fair share of brushes with death. He knew what the dizzying, heart-pounding fervor of mortality felt like. He felt it now sitting firmly on the ground, without a freefall plummet through the air, without a wound, without a ring of fire, acid burst, or armed battalion bearing down. The sheer scale of his panic brought forth the feeling of approaching death as keenly as he'd ever experienced.

His heart didn't burst, though it felt capable. His lungs managed to take in enough air to keep him conscious, though dizzy. For better or worse, the tremors wracking his body didn't jostle his brain to mush. He didn't die. Hiccup's panic peaked, then slowly, over the course of several agonizing minutes, subsided.

Sweating, shaking, he turned his head toward a crunching noise in the next cell. Two of the other Deathgrippers were there, each tugging and pulling at the Light Fury's broken wing. Their razor sharp fangs tore through the sleek flight membrane without effort, crushing already snapped bones with eager champs of their jaws.

Hiccup's breath hitched. He quickly looked away, struggling to relax before he tipped back into an incapacitated state of terror. Then one of the Deathgrippers in his own cell nudged Toothless's head, pushing it aside, nosing toward the dragon's fatal wound with focused, hungry eyes.

"No!"

His prosthetic had been removed sometime in the night, leaving him to hop, stumble, and crawl his way forward. He collapsed over Toothless, clutching and cradling the Night Fury's head, shielding the wound against his own body. The Deathgripper snarled and spat, thrust its tusks within an inch of Hiccup's face. They stared each other down for a long moment before the dragon bowed out of the debate. Still hissing, watching Hiccup with one gleaming yellow eye, it returned to licking the bloodied floor.

Hiccup exhaled. He looked down on Toothless's face. Death looked so much like sleep. Hiccup had seen it in his father's face. Now he saw it in his friend's. All but sleeping if not for a still chest and unmoving eyes under their lids. The Night Fury's scales were as cold as the metal muzzle that encased them.

Grief raised its head through the dull, plodding shock. A lump grew in Hiccup's throat.

His lips formed soundless apologies. Hiccup stroked the Fury's chin, caressed the long, earlike appendages jutting from the back of Toothless's skull. Usually so responsive, they were now sickeningly stiff under his palm. Tears came slowly but surely, sliding down his face and winding trails through patches of dried blood.

Time passed without notice. Hiccup sat with Toothless, tried to block out the sounds of feeding Deathgrippers behind him, and shooed hungry mouths away when they tried, again and again, to take a bite. The unmistakable sound of Grimmel's approaching footfalls gave Hiccup no concern this day.

There was nothing worse this man could do to him.

Grimmel entered the cell and snapped his fingers. The Deathgrippers immediately fell back, ignoring the urge to eat. To Hiccup's chagrin, the snap caught his own attention, too. Tense, with veins bulging at his neck, Hiccup fought the overwhelming urge to look up at Grimmel's face. The deep itch of withdrawal, mellowed by the morning's sorrow, returned.

Staring down obstinately at Toothless's closed eye, Hiccup saw Grimmel's boots come to a halt at the edge of his vision. Grimmel snapped again, just overhead, and Hiccup let out a frustrated, wordless grunt. Somehow, even without a vial in his neck, Grimmel's commands were starting to hold lasting influence.

Hiccup lifted his chin, giving Grimmel a clear look at his glassy red eyes, tear streaked face, and snotty upper lip. Shame and anger blossomed together in Hiccup's chest, but he couldn't look away.

Grimmel held out a mug of water, an apple, a small loaf of bread.

"Eat. Drink," he ordered, not unkindly. "I've drawn a bath for you. Can't take the Chief of Berk to train the warlords' army looking like some wild beast now, can I?"

Hiccup said nothing. Grimmel pursed his lips.

"Eat," he said. "Drink. Or I'll chain you to a chair in the corner and make you watch the Deathgrippers have their breakfast instead."

Hiccup ate, drank.

But he refused to leave Toothless's side until a vial pierced his neck and the cloudy, warm urge to obey overcame all other desires. Hiccup got his prosthetic back. He limped along behind Grimmel, out of the cell, through the ruin. He washed the blood, grime, and gore from his skin under Grimmel's watchful eye. The dragon scale suit had seen better days -- it wasn't meant to be worn for weeks on end -- but Hiccup strove to clean it, too.

They returned to the warlord's base. Distantly, Hiccup understood that he could just as easily travel onboard the airship, too, but he knew Grimmel found the irony of keeping an imprisoned rider on dragonback amusing. Though the sensation of flight was something he'd always love, a Deathgripper was hardly a suitable mount. They were made for battle, not travel. Stuffed between two of the armored ridges that ran down the beast's spine, Hiccup had no saddle and no control. All he could do was hold on.

Hiccup spent the day coaxing frightened dragons from their cages and relaxing the larger, testier species like the Rumblehorn the day before. An especially long stretch of time was spent working with the most cooperative Zippleback and Nightmare he could find. If he was going to train an entire army's worth of dragons, he'd need a steady supply of flammable gel and gas to keep his blade, Inferno, sparking.

He worked through the day, pausing only when Grimmel whistled him over to take a drink of water, eat a bite, or tilt his head to the side to receive a fresh vial of venom.

Hiccup came to in his cell, with venom fading and memories of the day returning. The air still stank of dried blood, of death, but the Furies were gone. Not a scale remained on the stony floor. He thought he could recall the Deathgrippers dragging them away and out of sight upon their return from the warlords' base, but the mental image was hazy.

More concerning, for the moment at least, was the realization that the air was clammy on his skin. His suit had been removed completely, and he'd been further undressed from the waist up -- nothing on but the knee-length, wool britches he wore beneath his armor. Hiccup was seated on the floor, bound by his wrists to the cell bars immediately behind him, with little give in any direction. It had been more than a week since he'd last been tied up, ever since the initial venom experiments had ended and regular dosing had begun. Whatever Grimmel was planning now, it couldn't be good.

He was alone, but not for long.

Grimmel strode down the hall with two Deathgrippers on his heels. Saying nothing, he opened the cell door and led them in. They immediately put their noses to the floor, seeking any residue left from the meal they'd been denied that morning.

"Do you want to know one of the most interesting things I've discovered about my dragon killers over the past few years?" Grimmel asked. He stood with his back to Hiccup, watching the pair slink from one corner to the next. "Early on I'd give them just one injection at a time -- much like I did with you. They grew restless when the effects wore off, but it was nothing too dramatic. Bouts of aggression, keeping their stingers out more often."

Grimmel clucked his tongue, and the dragons immediately responded, sidling up to him with soft grumbles. Grimmel turned so Hiccup could see as he pointed to a series of raised scars along the first one's face, and its blind, white eye. He used the toe of his boot to point at the second's foreleg, where the claw-like appendage bore a few visible notches, like those left in a tree trunk when it's struck with an axe. Hiccup had seen all of these old wounds before. He had assumed they were from fights with other dragons.

"But when I added a dose of trauma in between injections…" Grimmel let the words hang, giving Hiccup's weary mind the time to understand: he'd harmed the dragons himself. "Then, there was  a permanency to it. It altered them. Now they can't bear to go without the venom, because going without means pain -- means suffering. Before I fashioned these collars, I even saw one sting _itself_ to try to maintain things!"

Hiccup swallowed hard, unable to stamp out the growing fear inside him.

"I made you kill your dragon," Grimmel said slowly, turning to face Hiccup with an oddly puzzled expression. "I made you watch its mate die. I made you wake to the knowledge of what you'd done."

Grimmel walked closer, crouching down to look Hiccup in the eyes. "All that trauma, and yet... You're still fighting. I know your body's craving the venom, Hiccup. Why fight it?"

"Why give in?" Hiccup countered.

Grimmel threw back his head with a hearty laugh.

"I'll admit it. You've proven more impressive than I ever thought you would be," Grimmel said,  "but the game is over. It's only a matter, now, of how long it takes you to accept defeat." He pulled a vial from his belt, rolling it tantalizingly between his fingers. "Would you like more?"

Hiccup eyed the purple liquid, sloshing silently in the glass. The deep, desirous itch perked up like a Terrible Terror presented with a shiny object. He imagined the calm that followed the pinprick pain. The peace of being able to sink into nothingness, knowing his body would respond as directed.

Knowing he'd even go so far as to drive a blade into his best friend's body.

Hiccup glared. He shook his head, adamant. "No."

Grimmel frowned but didn't argue. He tucked the vial away and beckoned the Deathgrippers closer. Reaching out, he took one by the tusk, maneuvering so the very tip pressed against Hiccup's side, just below his ribs. Grimmel gave a quick wave of his hand. The dragon growled, low and long, and ever so slowly pushed its head forward.

At first, the pointed tip caused only irritation, but it didn't take long for the sensation to give way to discomfort, and then to pain. Hiccup gasped and sucked in his stomach, trying to squirm away. The dragon pushed on, breaking through the skin, and Hiccup cried out. Grimmel swatted the Deathgripper back. He let the moment, and the pain, linger before bringing the second Deathgripper up and placing its tusk at Hiccup's waist.

The skin split faster there. Hiccup couldn't hold back the tears that welled up in his eyes.

The first dragon had its second turn, piercing directly over the swell of Hiccup's ribcage. The tusk ground into cartilage and bone this time, and Hiccup screamed, thrashing involuntarily. The sights and sounds of distress put the Deathgripper on edge. As it pulled away, its tongue darted out for a quick, eager taste of blood, dribbling down Hiccup's chest.

At Grimmel's direction, the dragons punctured Hiccup's left palm, dug into the soft front of his shoulder, and sliced open a longer gash across his right cheek. The wounds were few in number but placed with expert care, designed to exacerbate Hiccup's pain without life threatening damage. The dragons were sent on their way. Grimmel removed the ropes at Hiccup's wrists, let him slump to the floor, and exited the cell in silence.

So began the new routine.

Hiccup worked with the warlords' dragons throughout the next day, sparing not a thought for his wounds as long as the venom clogged his veins. When he came to in the evening, he was undressed and tied down again, splayed across a tabletop with his bare back to the open air. Hiccup turned down Grimmel's offer for more venom. Instead he took a violent beating with one of the same whips that had previously been used on the warlords' dragons. It was made to smart even the toughest of hides -- a defensive adaptation which, to Hiccup's misfortune, humans lacked. Every sharp _crack_ flayed his skin open as easily as a hot knife passes through butter. Hiccup screamed through gritted teeth.

The whip was so damaging Grimmel could only lay out a half dozen strokes before calling it quits. He left Hiccup tied there through the night, blood and tears seeping into the wood beneath him. Sleepless hours ticked by with agonizing slowness, throbbing pain, and cramping muscles. When the sun rose again, Hiccup did his best not to appear relieved at the sight of a full vial in Grimmel's hand.

Cruel treatment made his work suffer. The long, barely formed, crisscrossing scabs on his back slowed him down and prevented a full range of motion, but he managed well enough, training a few beasts to start reacting to basic directional commands. Right, left. Fly, land. He worked with the warlords and their thugs, too, encouraging them to gain the dragons' loyalty by trust rather than fear. Violence and intimidation could subdue a dragon, too -- Drago's Bewilderbeast had shown that clear enough -- but Hiccup didn't subscribe to it. His desperate pupils were left with little choice but to put down their weapons and follow the Berkian technique as best they could.

When he blinked back into reality, Hiccup first dared to hope that Grimmel was giving him a reprieve. He was alone in his cell, undressed, but unbound. Footsteps and scraping claws approached. The sigh of relief building in Hiccup's lungs spilled out as an anxious exhale.

"Your presence has been an adjustment for the Deathgrippers, you know," Grimmel said out of the blue. "You take the same venom. You follow my orders. But then you sit on their backs as if they were simple beasts of burden." He unlocked the cell and pulled the door open wide.

Hiccup stood. He stared longingly at the opening, wishing he could run. He'd never get past his captor and the six ferocious dragons.

"Deathgrippers work in packs. They need a firm hierarchy," Grimmel explained. "I am the Alpha of this particular group, of course, but you… You don't have a place in their eyes. Yet."

Grimmel waved the dragons forward. They slunk into the cell, one after another. Hiccup backed away, retreating until he pressed against the far wall.

"Pack dominance is established through combat. Let's see where you fit in."

Grimmel snapped his fingers. Panicked, Hiccup held out a hand toward the dragon nearest him, imploring, desperate to make peace before violence broke out. The dragon ignored the gesture. Its tusks emerged like unsheathed swords, and a sharp hiss tore through its teeth. Hiccup dove to the left to avoid the Deathgripper's charge and stumbled right into another's waiting claws.

The dragon threw him to the floor and pounced. Hiccup closed his fists around its tusks. He tried to hold its head still, less with an interest in subduing it and more to protect himself from being accidentally ran through. Instead he found himself being jerked wildly from side to side. His head jostled. His bare back screamed against the stones beneath him.

Hiccup pulled his hands away just in time to prevent them from being crushed as another pack member lunged forward and the two dragons locked tusks. The Deathgrippers were all fighting each other just as intensely as they were working to intimidate Hiccup. The entire pecking order seemed to be at stake.

Hiccup didn't care where he fell in the pile so long as he could get out alive. He curled up, covered the vulnerable back of his neck with his hands, and strived to attract as little attention as possible, gritting his teeth against the cacophony of snarls and snapping jaws around him. His efforts did little to make him inconspicuous.

The dragons worked it out amongst themselves, then turned their wrath on him alone. They bellowed and drooled over him. They stomped and kicked, knocking Hiccup around the cell in the same way he'd seen them play with a young Scuttleclaw marked for feeding. They grazed their teeth against his skull. The ghastly scraping sound would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Hiccup was petrified. He was one whistle away from becoming their next meal, and the only thing that kept him alive from one second to the next was the strength of Grimmel's commands.

This was a show of power, just as much as it was a torture session.

Untold minutes later, the Deathgrippers finally accepted Hiccup's abject surrender. They chattered to one another with snakelike hissing and alien clicks, curiously nosing Hiccup's body with retracted tusks. Primal fear still raged in Hiccup's chest, and he uncurled briefly to try to crawl away on trembling hands and knees.

The Deathgripper with one good eye -- the one Hiccup rode to and from the warlords' base each day -- sidled up and knocked him back down to the floor with one deft shove. Hiccup didn't know where this dragon stood in the rest of the pack's order, but even the lowliest of the six would by far outrank him, and the wordless instruction was clear enough. Hiccup froze flat on his stomach where he lay.

The dragon sank to the floor beside him, sliding one mantis-like claw around his shoulders and the other about his waist. It drug him closer, tucked against the swell of its armored chest. Hot, wet breath billowed over Hiccup's skin, and a barbed, forked tongue pressed tentatively against his back. Then again.

Whether the dragon was cleaning him like a hatchling or simply enjoying the taste of his blood, Hiccup couldn't say, but the Deathgripper set to work, patiently dragging its tongue over the stripes on Hiccup's back. The scabs from the whip's biting edge had broken in the melee, and the wounds bled freely for some time. Face turned toward the open cell door, Hiccup could see Grimmel standing there, smiling with unreserved pleasure at the sight.

"Bottom rung," he confirmed. "As I suspected."

It was endless. Every morning Hiccup woke, had a vial pushed into his neck, and was carried off to play Alpha to the warlord's growing nest. By the time he could think clearly again, he'd be back in Grimmel's hideout once more, topless and tied to the cell bars, lashed to a chair, or otherwise set up for a grueling evening.

Grimmel would offer another dose of venom.

With ever increasing difficulty, Hiccup would refuse.

Grimmel beat him. Burned him. Shoved splinters of wood beneath his nails. Grimmel set the Deathgrippers on him more than once to make sure he knew his place. Even as half-blind One Eye -- as Hiccup came to think of her -- became gradually more possessive of, and gentle with, Hiccup, the others knew no such restraint. Hiccup's body became so littered with wounds, bruises, and scars that Grimmel sometimes had trouble finding where to inflict the next night's torture.

Hiccup tried to be brave and draw strength from any and every source. He thought of his father's unyielding courage and clout. The blood of Stoick the Vast coursed through his veins just as much as Grimmel's venom. He thought of the way Toothless had tried to save him in the end, to save them both, when all hope was lost. He tried to think of Astrid, his mother, his friends, who were no doubt scouring shorelines and open sea in search of him, though weeks had passed since his disappearance. He knew they wouldn't give up on him.

But the venom, the pain, and the exhaustion ate away his well-meaning resolve. His thoughts became clouded, even when the venom was gone. Grimmel began to pepper the lash of a whip or the sizzle of a brand with wicked, manipulative words, and Hiccup found it harder each day to separate truth from falsehood.

"You're nothing without your dragon."

"You're no chief. You're no leader."

"Your father died so you could lead his people into ruin."

Days and nights blurred, until one evening found Hiccup coming out of the venom's stupor while still in flight, traveling the last few miles to Grimmel's base, the wooden airship creaking overhead. Hiccup leaned heavily on One Eye's spiny armor, watching the dark water churn far below.

They landed, and Hiccup waited on the dragon's back as Grimmel released the others from their tethers. Weeks ago, if he'd been this lucid upon their return, Hiccup would have memorized their surroundings and the path they took into the dilapidated structure. He'd commit everything to memory to help plan for later escape. But today, he stared thoughtlessly at the ground as it passed. When Grimmel snapped his finger, Hiccup dismounted. They stood in the foyer just beyond the cells.

"Undress," Grimmel said. Not bothering to supervise, he stalked over to a table in the corner, littered with an assortment of tools for Hiccup's nightly torment -- some borrowed, some scavenged, and some specially crafted for the purpose. Hiccup did as he was told, watching Grimmel with thinly veiled trepidation. The man nodded to himself, grabbed a length of rope, and turned back to Hiccup, pointing at the chair alongside the unlit fireplace. "Sit."

It would be burning tonight.

Hiccup fought to steel himself. He walked to the chair, gingerly placed himself in it, and closed his eyes. A single spurt of acid from the nearest Deathgripper was all it took to coax up a violent blaze. Heat billowed out into the room, licking Hiccup's skin, irritating old and new wounds alike. He heard the scrape of a long metal rod being nestled into the coals. Finally, Grimmel took hold of his wrist, beginning to loop the rope around it.

"Wait," Hiccup whispered.

Grimmel paused. Hiccup opened his eyes, looking at him. For just a moment, confusion etched across Grimmel's face, then a soft grin.

"Ah. We're back early tonight." Grimmel pushed Hiccup's head to the side, examining the empty vial to confirm. "How early?"

"Just before we landed."

Grimmel nodded. "It was a longer day than usual." He went back to his work, pulling the wrist's knot tight.

"Wait," Hiccup breathed. "Wait, please. I..."

Grimmel raised a sharp eyebrow. "Yes?"

Hiccup swallowed hard. Behind him, the fire crackled, seemingly impatient. He couldn't see it, but he knew the end of the rod would be glowing by now. A brilliant red orange. His skin would take on just about the same red brilliance when it touched him. The thought of the searing pain made Hiccup tremble where he sat.

If he pushed through tonight, all he'd get was another collection of scars, and another chance tomorrow. He couldn't do it. Vikings didn't run from a fight. They didn't shirk from pain. But Hiccup had had enough. He knew he could end it with just three words, and his mouth formed them with surprising ease.

"I need more."

"Oh?"

Hiccup deflated. He couldn't sink any lower, yet Grimmel still toyed with him. "Please," he begged, louder. "Please, I need more. I don't want--" His voice cracked, and he threw a frantic, frightened glance at the table of instruments, eyes wide with animal terror.

"Shh."

Hiccup went silent.

Grimmel dropped the length of rope, let it dangle from Hiccup's wrist. He stood, reached into the pouch at his belt, and pulled a fresh vial free. It glowed faintly. Hiccup leaned forward in the chair.

"You will do as I say?" Grimmel asked.

"Yes."

"No more fighting?"

"N-No."

"Good boy."

Hiccup tilted his head, waiting. Instead, Grimmel held the vial out toward him. "Go on."

Hiccup felt like he could tear in two. The last shreds of dignity within him screamed to stop, to cast the vial aside. If he had any fight left in him, he'd make a run for it, too. Hiccup knew that's what a hero would do. But the threat of more scars, more bruises -- more hours living with the crystal clear memory of Toothless's dying breath -- urged him on. The itch rose to a feverous head, so bad Hiccup's hands began to tremble.

He reached out and took the vial, lifting it to his neck. Grimmel watched. It took half a minute. Hiccup's hands were shaking. He couldn't find a slot. He drug his fingers along the collar, found the detailed metalwork he sought, and moved to guide the needle home. All it took was a quick shove. The wasp-sting-pain felt like a kiss compared to the searing rod. Hiccup twisted his wrist. The vial locked into place, and a quiet, almost comforting hiss whispered sweet nothings below his ear.

It took only seconds before his thoughts began to blur. Before he lost himself, Hiccup struggled to form a silent prayer, asking for forgiveness, but his wide eyes were locked on Grimmel all the while.

The gods' power seemed to pale in comparison.


	4. Abduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait here, pals! I'd been planning all along to post one chapter a week, but I've been having some wrist troubles that seem scarily like Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, so I need to take it easy finishing up this fic. I'll get Chapter 5 up as soon as I can. Enjoy this one in the meantime!

In a way, it almost felt a shame that Hiccup had finally given in.

Ridding the world of dragons was Grimmel's true concern -- his purpose -- and at first he'd been satisfied with the single, clear objective: kill the Night Fury that had escaped his grasp. Toying with its rider along the way had simply been an added perk.

He'd never planned to stretch it out this far.

Capturing Hiccup in the heat of battle? A fluke.

Deciding to break him down into a thousand pieces? An inspired stroke of genius.

Grimmel had never been one to torture other people, but he'd found a thrill in Hiccup's gasps and cries of pain all the same. In his slow loss of confidence and strength. In the fear he tried to hide as he rose out of the venom's stupor, knowing that a clear head and acute suffering were inextricably linked. Grimmel had seen that same fear in the eyes of cornered, wounded dragons who knew that all hope of escape had left them.

Two weeks of violent pressure were all it took to reduce the foolish, arrogant Chief of Berk to an isolated, submissive shell, until there was no need to continue binding and harming him. Grimmel let the wounds heal and scar. Browbeaten and venom-drunk, Hiccup answered to orders, even mere suggestions, with absolute ease. He hung on Grimmel's every word, whistle, and gesture. It wasn't as exciting as a constant battle of wills. It wasn't as satisfying as eliciting agonized tears and streams of blood. But having Hiccup around made the days run more smoothly.

The boy was good with his hands, a natural born tinker and inventor, not so unlike Grimmel himself. With only a few demonstrations, Hiccup gathered the complexities of the airship's many mechanisms and moving parts. He now handled thorough, daily checks for damage and took care of minor repairs on his own.

Hiccup looked after the Deathgrippers, too, monitoring vial levels and changing them out as needed. The boy who had once cowed at the thought of killing a dragon took over the management and disposal of the feeding stock supplied by the warlords -- subpar captures that didn't fit the army's needs. Too old, too young, too injured. He cut the beasts' wings so they could fly only in short bursts, or not at all. Depending on the day, and on the species, he'd set them loose for a hunt outdoors or simply open a cell door and let the Deathgrippers in.

Given the opportunity, he'd assimilated quite well into the dragons' pecking order, to the point that he could stand in the middle of a frenzied slaughter and feel no fear. More than once Grimmel had seen the boy return from a feeding with bits of dried blood on his lips and chin. He could only guess at the curious intricacies of the bastardized, drug-induced bonds that would compel the Deathgrippers to share their food -- and Hiccup to swallow raw mouthfuls in an effort to appease his pack.

In little more than a month, he'd gone from a chieftain and Night Fury tamer to just another tool in a well supplied arsenal. Yes, Hiccup was an asset. One of Grimmel's best ideas.

Still, Grimmel's cruel streak raised its head. Every few days -- a bit for sport and a bit for genuine curiosity -- he let the dragon venom run its course to see if Hiccup's old fighting spirit would return. He watched the subtle change in the boy's face as he threw off the fog and blinked, owlish, into reality, like waking from a too-long dream.

Usually it took only moments for his body to feel the loss, and his head drooped sideways toward his shoulder, baring the openings on the collar as though driven by some new instinct. He'd whine, wordless, like a starving dog.

Sometimes, though, it took a longer stretch for him to work through it. He'd rub his neck, agitated, squirming. Gradually, he'd find true lucidity, and the cornered-dragon look would come into his eyes as he recalled the finer points of who he was, where he was -- what he was.

In those less common instances, the plea would come with greater effort. He might blush clear from his cheeks to his chest with shame, or go deathly pale. He might close his desperate, eager eyes in denial. But the plea always, eventually, came, without Grimmel prompting it with words, whips, or smoking rods.

"I need more."

Ever patronizing, Grimmel would ruffle his hair, pat his burning cheek, or praise him verbally, before taking his time to fit a new vial in place. He'd stopped letting Hiccup do the honors after he'd blindly stabbed a needle into his neck the week before, too desperate to seek out its proper placement in the collar's housing. Jutting at an odd angle, dangerously close to his vital artery, it had caused a bloody, risky, inconvenient mess.

Tonight, Grimmel was seated at a table in the best preserved room on the second floor, working through a mediocre mutton chop. Hiccup was skilled in many areas, but cooking was not one of them.

The boy was across the room with three Deathgrippers, crowded together with their stingers held low over their heads. In turn, he took each stinger by the base and pierced it through a film of dragonhide, skinned from the Deathgripper's evening kill and drawn tight over the mouth of a glass jar. The stingers responded, and Hiccup collected the drops of venom produced. When he finished Hiccup moved to the table and set the jar down, eyes darting to the second, untouched plate of food.

"Go ahead," Grimmel told him.

Hiccup settled on the bench opposite Grimmel, grabbing the knife and fork to get to work on his own meal. The table rocked with the effort required to cut into the overcooked meat. Grimmel caught his eye. "Dragon rider. Dragon trainer. Dragon killer. But an utterly useless cook."

Hiccup bowed his head. "Sorry."

"No matter. I don't keep you for the culinary experience."

They ate in companionable silence. Grimmel finished first and set his cutlery aside, pulling close a nearby pile of dusty books and rolled maps. He'd been poring over them for days. Hiccup had done his job well, and the warlords' dragon army was nearly ready to be unleashed upon the archipelago and the wide world beyond. The time had come to start looking toward the future.

Behind the venom's dulling effect, Hiccup's natural curiosity buzzed.

"Do you-- Do you know what's next?" he asked quietly. Asking felt inappropriate. He wasn't usually kept abreast of Grimmel's musings or considerations.

The corner of Grimmel's mouth quirked up in a grin. His eyes snapped up, too. They glinted with devilish amusement in the candlelight. "I have some idea."

Hiccup waited, but he received nothing more.

"If you are finished eating, I'm done with you for the night," Grimmel said, a clear dismissal. "Just get me a few more candles."

Hiccup got to his feet and retrieved a few fresh wicks from a rickety cabinet. He lingered at the tableside, looking on while Grimmel took hold of the glass jar, peeled back the covering hide, and carefully poured a measure of the fresh venom into a vial already partially filled with water. The Deathgrippers took the venom straight, but Hiccup required a slight dilution to keep from passing out -- or worse.

Grimmel swirled the vial in his fingers, stirring the liquids into a milky purple that began to glow as the venom oxidized. Hiccup swallowed, licked his lips. The sight alone was enough to spur a visceral reaction. Grimmel secured the needlepoint cap in place, and Hiccup bowed over so he could reach. The exchange was quick, perfunctory. A needle drawn out, a needle pushed in. He'd stopped wincing at the discomfort of it weeks ago.

"Good." Grimmel clapped him on the shoulder.

Hiccup stood straight and retreated obediently to a nearby corner where the three Deathgrippers, including One Eye, had settled down. No longer cell-bound, Hiccup spent most of his nights piled up with one or more of the dragons. The other half of the pack was likely resting in an adjacent room, but Hiccup rarely strayed far from his master's presence.

The dragons shuffled their enormous tails and claws to make room for him. Hiccup dropped to the floor and leaned against One Eye, the back of his head nestled between two of her armored spines. Heat from her body cut straight through Hiccup's thick garments and sank into the tight, work-sore muscles of his back.

His sleep was often restless these days, plagued with dizzying dreams of half-formed images and blurs of purple dots dancing behind his lids. Hiccup lay in this messy repose for an hour, dozing yet half-aware of the sound of Grimmel turning pages, scratching out notes.

A loud clatter on the roof interrupted Grimmel's studies and jerked Hiccup into a sitting position. The Deathgrippers, wide awake in an instant, were eyeing the ceiling with a chorus of curious clicks. Hiccup looked, too, holding his breath. At his belt, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword. A tense minute passed. The intermittent sound of scuttling and shuffling feet came from overhead. Then silence. The dragons hissed, turning their eyes toward the doorway, detecting a presence yet unknowable by the men.

Hiccup turned to look at Grimmel for direction. His face was drawn with irritation, but he didn't seem overly concerned. He let out a huffing sigh and snapped his fingers.

Before Hiccup had even scrambled to his feet, two Deathgrippers were already out the door. The third waited by his side. As soon as Hiccup clambered onto her back, One Eye shot out after the others, prowling toward the cells on the ground floor below. The hall was pitch dark, spotted with a few dusty slivers of moonlight struggling through cracks in the surrounding stonework. The intruders' voices filtered up through the far stairwell. No longer on the roof. They'd breached the hideout.

"Ruff and I checked all the way down, every cell," called a young man's voice at a distance. "Nothing."

"We must be missing something." A young woman. Behind the fog, familiarity sparked in Hiccup's mind.

"No one's here, Astrid. Look!" A different male voice, haughty, irritated.

"Then he's holding them somewhere else."

"Or we're just looking in the wrong place, _again_."

"Uh, guys?" A fourth voice, nervous. "We're definitely in the right place."

"Split up!"

Hiccup's Deathgripper stepped onto the floor behind the others. They fanned out in pursuit as the five intruders darted in every direction. With a tap of his heel into the dragon's left side, Hiccup urged her after the two who dashed past them, up the stairs. By the time they reached the landing, the three other dragons had emerged from a chamber at the far end of the hall. They advanced, splitting the two intruders apart. Each one dove into a separate room.

Hiccup's mount jerked after one, barreling through with such force that the door tore off its hinges and hit the opposite wall. A spray of green acid engulfed the splintered wood in blistering flames. The figure's blue, dragon-scale suit shimmered in the firelight as they scrambled to get clear, pausing only for a moment before making a confident dive for the open-air window set into the wall.

Knowing only one of them could fit through such a tight space, Hiccup jumped from One Eye's back in pursuit. The dragon hissed as if to urge him on. He stepped onto the window ledge and pulled himself out of the blaze, into the night. The first sharp breath of chilled air burned down his throat. Hiccup staggered momentarily as he turned around and found his footing. Thankfully, the slatted, uneven stonework was easy to climb once he started. Natural hand and footholds helped him quickly scale up the side, rolling over onto the roof seconds after his prey. Hiccup whipped Inferno from his belt and extended the blade.

A few steps away, the intruder was equally poised and prepared for battle. Instead of lashing out, however, the figure lowered their axe. A gloved hand slid from the weapon's handle and raised up the helmet's visor, revealing wide, blue eyes, steeped in surprise.

"Hiccup?"

Astrid.

Hiccup knew her. Not even Deathgripper venom could wipe the knowledge of her face away.

They stepped toward one another. A disbelieving smile brightened her moonlit features.

"You're okay," she breathed. "I'd--"

Hiccup sparked the dragon blade to life. He brought the flaming sword up in a wide, overhead arc to catch his opponent off guard. Quicker than a Speed Stinger, Astrid lifted her axe to meet the blow, guarding herself. She shook her head. "What are you _doing_?"

Hiccup pulled back and struck again, shouting a furious war cry.

"Hiccup, it's me!"

He heard her. He knew her. But nothing could keep him from swinging his blade. Grimmel wanted the unwelcome visitors to meet defeat, alive or dead. Capture or kill.

There was nothing for Hiccup to do but obey.

The task wasn't easy. Though he buffeted the warrior with blow after blow, she met his every move with ease. Astrid had always been more skilled in hand-to-hand combat, no matter how many times they faced off in training. Hiccup's mode of attack quickly blurred into one of defense. Astrid seemed to think twice as fast, barely allowing Hiccup the chance to parry each fall of her axe before making him anticipate another. Every hit to his blade sent sparks of dragonfire into the dark around them, like a swarm of glowing gnats.

The roof trembled. Green acid bubbled through the cracks beneath their feet, then began to shoot up like a violent geyser. An entire section of the molten structure collapsed around it. Hiccup jumped, sprawling to safety, barely avoiding the deadly spray as it came raining down, and the fight was momentarily forgotten as both combatants scrambled away from the cave-in. With two furious beats of its wings, Hiccup's Deathgripper rose out of the burning room below and alighted. A second pair of mantid claws dug deep into the smoking stones beside it, signalling the imminent arrival of another.

One Eye charged, bearing down on Astrid. There was nowhere for her to go.

From somewhere overhead, a volley of sharp spikes came whistling through the air. They embedded themselves in the roof with a series of quick thuds. The Deathgripper was unharmed, but momentarily distracted, long enough for a ferocious, electric blue Nadder to dive out of the sky and tackle her. Long, sharp talons clawed at the Deathgripper's armored side. Other dragons were arriving, too, crowding what was left of the roof. A flaming Monstrous Nightmare, putting Hiccup's dragon blade to shame. A Zippleback and Gronckle. All with armed riders on their backs. It seemed all the intruders had somehow evaded capture.

Grimmel would be displeased.

The Nadder and Deathgripper continued to fight. Over the din, Hiccup couldn't make out what the riders were shouting to one another. Two of them dismounted, rushing Hiccup with their weapons held out for defense. Hiccup gave into the bait, lashing out, desperate to prevent this rooftop rendezvous from turning into an escape. The Nightmare and Gronckle flew to assist the Nadder, now facing assault from a second member of Grimmel's pack. Fire and molten rock met acid sprays. The night was rent with the sound of metal on metal, claws on stone.

The long, high whistle that came from below was nearly drowned out by the noise, but to Hiccup and the Deathgrippers, it rose above all else. Disengage. Retreat. Snarling, bleeding, one Deathgripper leapt off the beset Nadder and slunk back through the hole in the roof. Hiccup extinguished his blade and turned to follow. At the edge of his vision, a glint of silver emerged. The axe-wielding warrior was striking a final blow. Hiccup tried to get out of the way, but, like countless times before, Astrid was too fast.

Her axe sliced through the air, a hair's breadth from his skin. It shattered the glass vial into countless pieces as it passed, leaving Hiccup unharmed and frozen on the rooftop.

A second, distant whistle from Grimmel beckoned. With a jerk, Hiccup scrambled on, foot by foot, the riders in close pursuit.

"Hiccup, no!"

They tripped him up, down onto his hands and knees. The riders grappled at his prosthetic, his ankles, his wrists. They wrestled the hilt of the dragon blade from his closed fist. Someone splayed out across his back, wrapped their arms around his middle and yanked sharply to pull him off balance. Hiccup shouted, struggling to loose himself, but he was no match for their combined strength. Twenty paces away, One Eye shook off the Nadder and surged to Hiccup's defense in a furious, spidering crawl. Stinger held aloft and ready to strike, her seeing eye darted briskly from one rider to another. One sharp foreclaw opened wide as she approached, ready to pluck Hiccup from the fray and drag him home.

With a well-aimed lava shot to the face, the Gronckle sent the Deathgripper tumbling clear off the roof. All chances of Hiccup's escape disappeared with her into the darkness.

"Stormfly! Here, girl!"

Suddenly, the riders let up.

"What about Toothless?" one asked.

Hiccup crawled forward, thinking of nothing but the need to reach the roof's opening, to tumble through and answer Grimmel's call. He might break an arm in the fall, but it didn't matter.

"There's no time. We need to get Hiccup out of here."

There was a shuffle of movement as the rest of the dragons landed on the roof and their riders mounted up. The Nadder's claws closed around Hiccup's torso. The roof fell away as they pulled into the air, hovering. From the dragon's back, Astrid called out a hasty apology that Hiccup didn't understand was meant for him. Her voice was laced deep with concern and confusion. Then she gave another shout to the others.

"Let's go! Move out!"

He heard a Deathgripper roar as the riders took to the sky, but he knew even One Eye wouldn't follow unless Grimmel gave the word. He was alone and unarmed.

Hiccup fought to pry open the dragon's grip with his gloved hands, even once they were so high up the fall would surely kill him if the Nadder actually let go. The smoking, battered silhouette of the base drifted out of sight. Hiccup stared in its direction and shouted wordless protests. The vial had been reduced to sharp, dripping shards jutting from his neck, but the desire to obey Grimmel's call remained. Unyielding. For an hour he screamed, demanding his release, wearing his throat raw until he spat a mouthful of blood into the churning ocean below.

The riders said nothing, to him or to one another.

The moment he fell quiet, Hiccup felt exhaustion overcome him. He was battle worn and weary. He sagged into the Nadder's gentle grip. The rush of sea air and the steady beat of dragon wings nearly lulled him to sleep, but Hiccup fought the urge off. Instead he watched for landmarks. A small island with a jagged shoreline shaped like fish hook. A foaming whirlpool far on the left. He committed the flight path to memory as best he could. As the minutes stretched into another hour, then to two, Hiccup began to feel the loss of the vial more acutely. The adrenaline and venom in his veins were fading fast now, leaving an unscratchable, burning itch in its wake. He squirmed in the dragon's talons, filled with discomfort.

The return to his own mind was a painful, arduous process. It had been over a week since Grimmel had last let the effects wear off. The long stretch of time under the venom's influence was more difficult than ever to shake off. Gradually, a few things became clear to him.

The riders -- intruders, abductors -- were his tribesmen. His friends. They were all there. Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut, expertly flying in a defensive formation to cover Stormfly from the sides and rear.

Astrid led the way, carrying him home to New Berk.

Hiccup knew the realization should come with a rush of deep relief, a sense of newfound safety. His friends had found him. His betrothed had never given up on him. The impossible had occurred, and he was _finally_ getting away from Grimmel the Grisly, with no sign of pursuit.

There was no relief.

He dangled in the air, feeling just as unsettled in Stormfly's claws as when he'd first found himself locked up in Grimmel's hideout. Hiccup's rational mind warred with the alarmist thoughts that told him he was being taken prisoner -- a dizzying onslaught that made Hiccup press his hands against his temples as if he could reach in and quiet the noise.

_You're safe._

_I need to get back._

_No. You're safe._

_He called me, and I didn't come. He'll be angry._

Heavy anxiety sat like a rock in the pit of Hiccup's churning stomach. His friends had come. But what if they had come too late?

_He can't touch you now._

_It doesn't matter. I'm already his._


	5. Homecoming I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news for you! My plans for the final chapter turned out to take a LOT OF WORDS to execute. Rather than making y'all wait longer for me to write the second half and post it all together, I've just decided to just split it into two parts and give you the first bit now. So, effectively, this fic will have six chapters instead of my planned five.
> 
> I'll return with the final installment in June. Thanks for waiting. :)

It was still dark when they careened toward a grassy clifftop at the edge of the village, but in the interspersed moon- and firelight Hiccup caught a glimpse of how much progress had occurred while he'd been away. Dozens of buildings were more than halfway to completion, and many others had full wood frames constructed and ready to be filled out.

New Berk seemed to have carried on just fine without him at the helm.

Stormfly held him against the grass until Astrid and the rest of the riders dismounted. They gathered in close around him, looking ready to tackle and restrain him again if need be. When the Nadder finally uncurled her talons and stepped back, however, Hiccup only moved to right himself.

"Astrid," he breathed.

"I'm here," she answered. Gentle, strong hands slipped beneath his arms and helped pull him to his feet. Hiccup leaned against her. Though it was quite late -- or very early; Hiccup's sense of time was foggy -- a small crowd was gathering.

"You got him?" came Gobber's booming voice, "Thank Thor!"

"Son…" Hiccup felt a hand tease through his hair, messy and unkempt, longer than it should be. Valka's tone, desperately relieved at first, quickly gave way to shock and quiet anger -- the sound of a mother whose child has been harmed. "What has he done to you?"

Hiccup didn't answer. The crowd of Berkians was converging, sending up a chorus of curious whispers, frightened murmurs, and a few joyous shouts heralding their Chief's return. Hiccup's heart fluttered like an injured bird, skipping beats. He gripped Astrid's shoulder tightly.

"Alright!" she shouted. "Give him some air!"

The riders ushered the villagers back. A tall figure broke from the circle and approached. "What do you need?" he asked. Eret, son of Eret, always ready to help.

Astrid shook her head and sucked in a breath, half overwhelmed. "Let's just get him to his tent," she decided. "Fishlegs? Go wake Gothi?"

"On it!"

"Right this way, Chief." Eret clapped Hiccup on the shoulder and turned to start clearing a path. Astrid urged him forward. Hiccup took slow, reluctant steps.

"Please," he said shakily. He heard his own voice from a distance, like someone else was speaking for him. "Let me go. I need--"

Astrid hushed him gently. "You're alright. Come on."

"I need more."

"It'll be okay."

Hiccup put up a feeble struggle all the way to his tent. It looked just the same as he'd left it. A few rugs spread out to cover the bare ground. His possessions housed in wooden boxes and crates pushed up against the corners. A makeshift bed of tree trunks, lashed together and covered in furs.

Toothless's saddle and red tail fin, sitting atop a closed chest, drew his eye immediately. Astrid followed his gaze.

"We'll find him, Hiccup," she assured. "Don't worry."

Hiccup's heart sunk low in his chest, but he said nothing. He reclined on his bed without prompting. The small space was crowded. Astrid, Valka, Gobber, and Eret stood close by, watching him with expressions that ranged from relief to concern, all tinged with a level of uncertainty. The elder, Gothi, entered shortly thereafter and approached Hiccup. Her resolute sense of purpose helped to break up the awkwardness of the silent scene.

She peered at each of his hands in turn as though looking for something. She stared into his eyes for an uncomfortably long time. Then she eyed the broken vial. Her aged yet steady fingers brushed against his skin, pressing here, prodding there. Then she turned to the others and made a quick motion. Eret stepped forward and drew his knife. Hiccup scrambled backwards on instinct, but Gothi put a calming hand on his shoulder, and he fell still.

With great care and skill, Eret sliced through the leather straps. The collar slipped free, dangling from Eret's closed fist. He stepped back, and Hiccup winced as quiet gasps from Astrid and his mother cut through the silence. Gobber murmured something in Odin's name.

Where each of the collar's four slots had sat, Hiccup's neck bore hideous puncture wounds. They were encircled by splotchy bruises of every color imaginable, cataloging an abuse so frequent and steady that he never fully healed. The collar had left its mark in other places, too. There was an irritated, red rash across Hiccup's throat and two painful areas where the chafing edge of the leather had worn straight through the topmost layer of skin, leaving it perpetually raw and blistered.

Thin, purple lines fanned out from each puncture wound like the crooked legs of a crushed spider. The venom tracks crawled nearly the entire length of his neck, from jaw to collarbone.

Eret held up the collar. He eyed the glass shards jutting from one side and the needle from the other, face drawn with disbelief as he put the pieces together. "Grimmel's been poisoning him. For weeks, looks like."

Hiccup stared at the collar, too. The glint of the needle made his heart race, anxious, _eager._  The desperation for another dose clawed sharp at his insides. He had to dig his trembling hands into the furs beneath him to keep himself from reaching out to grab the collar like a lifeline.

Again the voice, which both was and wasn't his, spoke. "I need more," he whispered, eyes jumping from face to worried face. "Please."

Stooping, Gothi pulled back the edge of the nearest rug. The grass had long since withered away, leaving dry, loose dirt. She scrawled into it with her staff. Gobber watched closely, translating. "She says Hiccup's been exposed to this poison for such a long period of time, his body has developed a bit of a taste for it, so to speak... She'll work to put together something to help counteract the effects, but for now the best thing to do is let him rest. He's-- He's had a long journey."

Within the hour, the superficial wounds on Hiccup's neck had been washed, and he had a mug in hand, filled with a strong sleeping draught. He drank it down, feeling woozy before the final mouthful even reached his lips. Two guards were posted at the entrance of his tent. Astrid sat beside him on the edge of the bed. She took the mug from him and said something in a gentle voice. Hiccup didn't catch it. He was already flat on his back, falling away from the world.

It was the deepest, most restorative sleep he'd had in months, but it wasn't dreamless.

He dreamed of Grimmel, mostly. Hiccup found himself unable to escape the pale blue eyes, always watching him. Sparkling with cruel satisfaction and control. He relived bouts of torture so vivid they should have urged him awake, but Gothi's powerful draught kept him at Grimmel's mercy even within his own mind.

He dreamed of Toothless, too, flying over the open sea. Hiccup held out his arms like wings of his own. They were together and free. All was as it should be, until a dagger appeared from nowhere and his outstretched hand curled around the hilt. Hiccup plunged it into his dragon's neck, and they both screamed as they fell, Toothless's blood scattering in the sky.

He dreamed of Toothless in the cove -- working to gain his trust, bringing him fish to keep up his strength, building a tail fin that would help them both escape the sense of doom that lingered in the air. The bolt of a crossbow, fired by an unseen enemy, whizzed over his head and into Toothless's skull with a resounding, wet crunch of bone and brain matter. Hiccup's heart gave a painful lurch, and he looked down to see a second bolt buried in his own chest, blood pooling.

No matter how he dreamed of his beloved Night Fury, violence and death followed.

Heavy exhaustion and the sleeping draught carried Hiccup through the rest of that night, the entire day that followed, and all the way to the next break of dawn.

He woke up alone, so ravenous with hunger that his desire for more venom was lost in the mix, nearly forgettable. His eyes flitted about, soaking up the familiar surroundings. For a single, blessed moment, it was almost like he'd never left. Toothless could have been just outside the tent, stretching like a cat, waiting for Hiccup to emerge so they could take a morning flight. The thought pulled his dry lips into a small, faraway smile. He sat up, yawning.

Someone had covered him up while he slept. The blankets pooled at his waist, then fell off to the side as he turned to plant his feet on the ground. He was still fully dressed. After so many hours, his clothing felt tight, cumbersome. Hiccup tugged absentmindedly at a sleeve, squirmed where he sat. He peered down at himself, taking in the view with unclouded eyes.

The outfit was a clear homage to Grimmel's own preferred style of dress. Slim cut, lengthy, made to cover every inch of him apart from Hiccup's hands, neck, and face. A heavy, large-buckled belt wound about his waist, an empty place for the Dragon Blade to rest at his hip. All made of a dark material, pliable yet strong. Marbled with veins, scars, and faint outlines revealing where hundreds of scraped-off scales used to be.

Dragonhide.

Hiccup swallowed hard and closed his eyes. A memory came to him, unbidden: stooped over in a room in the upper floor of the hideout, wearing nothing but his underclothes. He was struggling to clean the dragon scale suit again, though it was fraying at the seams, riddled with holes, truly on its last leg. Footsteps approached behind him, but Hiccup kept at his work.

"Just give up on that old mess," Grimmel told him. "I've put together something new for you."

Hiccup pulled the scaled suit out of the basin and let it drop to the floor in a wet, forgotten heap. He turned, accepting the bundle of folded leather Grimmel held out to him. Somewhat soft to the touch, freshly tanned.

"It's only right that you should wear your own kill."

The drugged, obedient Hiccup felt no emotion.

The clear-headed, cognizant Hiccup standing in his own tent doubled over and retched.

He reached to undo the belt, hands shaking so violently he could barely grasp it. He tore at his clothes, stripping the hide off like it was scalding him, throwing it blindly to the floor.  He tore and tore and tore, until nothing but morning air touched his skin. He crumbled, curled into himself, wrapping his arms around his knees.

That was how Astrid found him minutes later. She'd spent a majority of the last 32 hours at his side and had only just stepped out to make sure a proper meal would be arranged as soon as the chief began to stir. She stepped past the guards into the tent and froze, face molding quickly from an expression of calm, to shock, to horror.

The wounds on his neck had been horrible enough to take in. But, _oh_ , Hiccup's body -- every inch of it she could see -- was positively defiled. Riddled with signs of torture, of so many weeks, so many methods, Astrid could hardly believe Hiccup had survived at all.

It was unspeakable.

Rage and heartbreak rose in equal measure as her eyes were drawn from mark to hideous mark, each one seeming worse than the last. A map of trauma written across her lover's skin with painstaking, evil care. His back, in particular, looked as though it had been ripped to pieces and put sloppily back together again, covered in so many overlapping stripes and ridges of rough, pink scar tissue that it was hard to discern where one ended and another began.

He was thin, too. Well, thinn _er_. His ribs and shoulder blades, the notches of his spine, all stood out in discomforting relief, matching the sunken features of his face that she had stared at through all the previous day and night. It wasn't the first time she'd seen burn marks on Hiccup's skin. He was Gobber's former apprentice, after all. But his sides were splotched all over with the red, raised blisters, like an animal branded over and over and over again.

And he was crying. Softly. Head buried in his knees, hair drooping messily over his ears. Astrid rushed forward, grabbed a blanket from the bed, and draped it over his shoulders. She sat behind him, draped her arms around him, too. Astrid pulled Hiccup's bare, vulnerable body gently, resolutely toward her, pressing his back to her chest and doing all she could to envelop him.

"What's wrong?" she asked, nuzzling into his hair, pressing a kiss to his wounded neck. "What's wrong?" The question felt hollow, stupid. What _wasn't_ wrong?

His answer was muffled. "Toothless."

"We'll find him," she whispered, feeling desperately guilty for leaving the dragon behind. "I promise you, we'll find him."

"No." Hiccup trembled in her arms. He raised his head for a moment, cheeks blotchy and red, and looked off to the right with an expression so devoid of hope, so lost, that Astrid's heart went cold. She followed his gaze to a mess of leather garments, strewn haphazardly across the rug. "It's Toothless," Hiccup choked.

He retreated back against his knees, blocking out the world, leaving Astrid to grapple with the information alone. She shook her head, denying, but she knew Hiccup wouldn't lie about this. And it made too much cruel, sickening sense to not be true.

She shed hot tears of her own and clutched Hiccup tightly, as if she could keep him from falling apart. But there was nothing Astrid could say to take the pain from him -- nor the guilt he hid away.

There was nothing she could do.

Within hours, the entire village had learned of the Alpha's dismal fate.

By nightfall, a great pyre had been erected on an open cliff top overlooking the sea.

Hiccup emerged from his tent wearing the finest garments he owned: fur-lined boots, a snow white tunic featuring an intricately embroidered neckline, britches made of a fabric so soft and smooth they seemed to ripple about his legs like water. A long mantle draped over it all. The thick, wooly yak hide was fastened snug about his neck with a golden brooch fit for royalty--a large, round medallion embossed with the Berk crest.

His scars and bruises were hidden from view, but Hiccup could feel the way the clothing hung slightly loose about his frame. There was a staggering weakness to his gait that made his limp more pronounced. For all the ceremonial trappings, he'd never felt less like a chief.

Silent as death itself, he made his way through the village and up the slope to the mass of assembled Berkians. Everyone had gathered, human and dragon alike, waiting for him, and they parted like the tide to let him pass. Lit torches had been dispersed throughout the crowd, providing light to see by. The fire threw shadows that wavered and danced as though the gods themselves had sent ethereal emissaries down to join them.

In Hiccup's arms was all that remained of the beloved Night Fury, folded with care, nestled in the curve of Toothless's saddle, and crowned with the red tail fin. It was a small, rather pathetic representation of the magnificent creature they all knew, but as Hiccup passed, the villagers looked upon the bundle with earnest sorrow and reverence.

Hiccup stepped out of the crowd at the summit, where the top of the pyre towered a few feet overhead. It was surrounded by the dragon riders, posted at each of its four corners. Astrid and Stormfly, Snotlout and Hookfang to Hiccup's right and left. Fishlegs and Meatlug, and the twins with Barf and Belch on the opposite side, their backs to the ocean, where far, far in the distance, Hiccup knew the great caldera opened to the Hidden World below.

Cloudjumper padded forward to give Hiccup a boost, lifting him up on the back of his long neck. Hiccup leaned over the dragon's frills and gently placed his bundle in the center of the woodstack. Countless pairs of eyes looked on, but Hiccup felt far away. He lingered for a minute, the tip of his thumb winding circles into the leather. It felt nothing like Toothless anymore, but it was the last touch he'd ever have. And so Hiccup savored it, swallowing the heavy lump in his throat.

When he finally pulled away, the loyal Stormcutter took a moment of his own to rest his snout on the edge of the pyre. His golden eyes swam with emotion. Hiccup looked away.

_If dragons could cry…_

When Hiccup returned to the earth, Gobber stepped out of the crowd and raised his solemn voice. He spoke of the King of Dragons, "a chief in his own right." How Toothless and Hiccup had changed the world and ushered in a new era of peace for the war-torn village of Berk. Hiccup thought of the warlords' dragon army, restless and ramping up for an attack.

Gobber spoke of the fate of Vikings who die in battle -- Hiccup thought of blood, pooling on stone, spurting in his face -- brought to Odin in Valhalla, or to Freya in Fólkvangr. He joked that Toothless would probably prefer the meadow over the hall, though he admitted no one really knew where dragons went upon their deaths.

"But if any creature ever deserved a place among the gods… Well." Gobber glanced at the pyre, thoughtful. "Let it be this one."

The riders each grabbed an unlit torch. One by one, their dragons set them alight. Hiccup held his up to Cloudjumper, who bathed the tip in a gentle, steady stream of flame. Together, the six friends lowered their torches, and the pyre caught.

The trees were freshly felled, still damp from the fertile grounds they'd grown in. The wood popped and grumbled, sending up thick clouds of smoke. Hiccup watched the fire travel, slowly at first, burrowing in from the corners until it finally took root in the pyre's center and the first orange tendril licked the underside of the saddle he'd worked long and hard to craft. There was no need for it anymore.

The saddle went quickly. Flames jumped to the tail fin and consumed it, too. But even without scales, the dragonhide took time to succumb to the hungry inferno. Minutes drew out in somber silence on the clifftop. As the hide finally shrivelled and turned to ash, Hiccup stared skyward. He followed thousands of sparks as they rose and faded onto a pitch black canvas backlit with distant stars.

Beyond the reach of the fire's glow, it was so dark Toothless himself could have flown by undetected. Hiccup clung to the comforting thought. Maybe the Night Fury really _was_ returning to the sky, in some form, at least.

At the back of the crowd, the Crimson Goregutter let out a bellow that made the ground tremble beneath Hiccup's feet. He turned just in time to see the giant, antlered beast spread its wings and take off. As if answering some unspoken signal, all around, the wild, rescued dragons that had followed their Alpha to New Berk now began to depart. They roared and trumpeted as they went, and Hiccup watched in amazement as a hundred bursts of dragonfire lit up the night overhead.

It was one last celebration of their king. One last show of respect. A final goodbye.

One lingering Hobgobbler hovered above the pyre, let out a sharp screech, and disappeared into the darkness. Beside him, Hiccup felt Gobber shudder.

"Bad omen," the blacksmith murmured to himself.

Then the clifftop was silent again. The Berkians and their dragons stood alone. The pyre burned on.

Hiccup was the first to turn away. He wiped his eyes and moved to face the bulk of the crowd. The Vikings lifted their eyes to him, anticipating a speech or some other sort of Chiefly response.

Hiccup gave them neither.

He stepped forward, and like before, they parted to let him pass. Head bowed, shoulders hunched, a shell of a leader, Hiccup limped back down the slope. One by one, his people followed.

They left the pyre blazing. They left Toothless in the hands of their gods.


End file.
